


Little Company

by sloganeer



Category: Were the World Mine (2008)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.<br/>-- William Shakespeare</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [torakowalski](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/gifts).



He steps out of the airport, and there's a yellow cab waiting for him, packed with people he knows only from Facebook and when their heads pop up behind Timothy on Skype. He doesn't remember anyone's name, not that he could place each one through the dirty windows and the wind that burns his cheeks red. But they all remember his. They shout it at the top of their lungs, and it's exactly the New York welcome Jonathon expected.

Timothy, bundled up in scarf and hat and mittens, but leaning against the car like sex, just waiting, that's New York, too.

He's different here, or maybe he's just different now. Maybe Timothy would be this new version of himself anyway, anywhere. Jon feels new, and he knows that has nothing to do with Dartmouth.

"How are you here?" Timothy asks, face wide and bright with a smile.

Jon steps to the curb, drops his bags, ignores the kids in the backseat, and tips up into a kiss. Their kisses always start slow, like no one's sure when it's going to come to an end. But it hasn't yet, so Jon turns his head, opens Timothy's coat to get his hands on warm skin, and he keeps the kissing going. He gets the kiss going with teeth and tongue and a contented groan buzzing between them.

"I don't know," Jon says. Timothy pulls back, arms looped around Jon's neck, but his face scrunched up in confusion. "I don't know how I'm here," Jon explains. "Is this still real life?" It never hurts to check.

The friends fall out of the cab with hellos and hugs and someone puts Jon's bags into the trunk, and then they're headed into the city. Timothy shoves in next to the driver so Jon can have the window. He holds Timothy's hand and watches the city rise up ahead of them. It's nothing like the movies or pictures or anything Timothy's told him. It's beautiful and scary, and Jonathon doesn't know how he can possibly compete.

"He's going to drop us at my dorm. You wanna shower or eat first?"

Someone in the backseat says, "Food," but Timothy is waiting for Jon's answer. He wants a shower.

"OK." Timothy nods. He tucks his face into Jon's neck. "I'll get rid of them for an hour or so," he says, because sometimes he knows Jon better than Jon knows himself.

Timothy's friends are chatty, taking turns with stories, most of them embarrassing and all of them about Timothy. Jon's heard most of it before, in text messages while they were at the club or on Skype after Timothy made it back to his dorm from Long Island or on the phone, both of them laying in single beds and missing the warmth of another body.

"You're coming out with us tonight." Danny seems to be the leader of the group. Gets them in the most ridiculous trouble, Jon has figured, from the stories, and made him the most jealous for the first month he and Timothy were apart until Timothy explained that Danny was a girl.

She's taller than them both and hugs like a fullback.

Timothy promises they'll come out, says, "Text me if you're not going to Buster's," and Chad says, "Every great love story starts at Buster's."

Jon hefts his duffle onto his good shoulder, and Timothy takes the carry-on. Everyone else climbs back into the waiting cab, A.J. popping back back out for one more hug. He smiles fondly and kisses Jon's cheek.

"It's just so nice to meet you," he says. Jon can see Timothy's blush in the corner of his eye.

The cab pulls away from the curb and into traffic. They wave and sing a chorus of his name again. They all call him Jonathon.

"You're here," is what Timothy keeps saying, a whisper against Jon's cold cheeks or a proclamation in the elevator on the way up.

"You're crazy."

He shakes his head and takes Jon's hand. "Just happy."

There's a lot in Timothy's dorm room that's familiar, even via webcam, and it could feel like home. That feeling starts when Jon drops his bag on the bed and feels a pair of strong arms wrap him up from behind. Timothy is just tall enough to set his chin on Jon's shoulder and breathe a happy sigh in his ear.

"So this is where you bring all the boys?"

Timothy lets the joke fall flat, turns Jonathon in his arms, and backs him up onto the bed. The sheets are clean and warm, and when Jon stares up at Timothy pulling off his shirt and tie, at his chest and arms in his undershirt before that's gone, too, Jon gets why. Because, despite the time and space between them, this is the only guy Jon wants to be with. Timothy sits in his lap and kisses Jon like he's the only guy, too.

New York stays outside, and they live in this space together for a while. It's not home or school or even the real world where sometimes Jon doesn't know if he should hold Timothy's hand. It's the space between all those worlds, and they stay there together.

"I love you when you kiss me," Timothy says, another proclamation Jon wasn't expecting. So he slides his hand around Timothy's neck and presses, gently, against his chest until Timothy stops and sits up.

"Yeah?" He grins. "How about when I touch you?" Jon follows the question with one hand tracing down the curves of Timothy's chest.

"We don't have to go out tonight," Timothy says, out of breath, and the space between New York and New Hampshire disappears.

"No," Jon says, reaching up. Timothy catches his hand and holds it over his heart. "Of course we do. You're going to show me your city."

They have a few days in New York. Timothy's last exam is late, the 22nd, and then they'll go home for Christmas together. This right now is what Jon thinks of as practice--what Timothy would call rehearsal--because Timothy belongs here in New York. Jonathon's going to have to move to New York.

"You hate clubs," Timothy says.

"Only a little." He pulls Timothy down, and they roll around until they fit, his head on Jon's chest. "I like your friends," he offers. "They like me, right?"

"Yeah," Timothy agrees. His fingers are slightly cold, tracing the elastic on Jon's boxers. "Hey, Darren was saying that Buster's is going to sponsor a rugby team. Maybe you can join when you move down here."

Jon says, "Maybe," but that's still a few years away. He has to graduate first, they both do, then there's jobs and parents, and he still thinks he could go pro, but it also feels like things are decided. Like Jonathon's life will never be better than this dorm room, with his boyfriend's warm breath on his stomach, hand down his pants, and all that possibility ahead of them.

So he'll go to the club, and he'll dance, and he'll read Shakespeare, and he'll play on a gay rugby team, and he'll live in New York, because Jonathon's in love. It's not the life that once inhabited his dreams, but it's beautiful and it's scary.

He gasps when he feels Timothy's mouth, when he realises they might be late to meet Timothy's friends. Maybe they like Jon, but he didn't come to New York for them. He came for this. He missed this, and the person he is with Timothy. His fingers clench in Timothy's hair, and Jonathon has to remind himself, This is real life.


End file.
